The Path Not Traveled
by Isilien Elenihin
Summary: Inspired by Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken," it examines the split between my AU universe 'All Roads Lead Home,' and Doctor Who Canon.


A/N: This is a little story inspired by Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken," which I have quoted throughout. It takes place in my 'All Roads Lead Home' universe before "The Long and Winding Road" (but actually after, timey-wimey goodness). Enjoy!

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><p>The Path Not Traveled<p>

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_

_And sorry I could not travel both_

_And be one traveler, long I stood_

_And looked down one as far as I could_

_To where it bent in the undergrowth;_

_We always have a choice, River_, the Doctor would say every time she tried to absolve him of something terrible he'd done for the sake of the universe, or a planet, or a city, or a village, or just another person. Then he would smile sadly and tell her that one day she'd make her choice. She supposed that day was now. She wasn't a proper Time Lady, for all that she could regenerate (and had, twice). In some ways she was closer than Rose (see the aforementioned regenerations), but in others she was far from. Rose could feel the turn of the universe, could tell when a point was fixed and when it was in flux even if she couldn't see it. She could sense the timelines in a way that River only managed rarely and for moments.

Now was one of those moments. She could _feel_ the timelines stretching out before her. They stood evenly balanced on the edge of a knife—her decision would tip the scale and send the universe hurtling down a new path. Down one, she saw love, the love of the man (alien) she'd given her heart to in childhood. River Song had loved the Doctor since she found her mother and listened to her stories about a mad alien who traveled in a blue box through all of space and time. The second also offered love, but familial. He was a favorite uncle, not a husband, and by his side was a woman with eyes that held the fire of the ages and all the starry skies.

_You could change it_, the timelines whispered. _You could have it all_.

They did not mention the consequences, but River saw them anyway. She saw Donna, wonderful, brave, bold-as-brass Donna diminished, forgotten, resigned to a life that was no longer her own. She saw Jack broken and alone. She saw a man resembling her Doctor in every way (except his hearts—one, not two) burning and she saw the woman burning with him, to save him—a futile effort. They burned together. And she saw the Doctor, her Doctor, wounded in a way that she could not heal.

_Everything has a price_, he said. _You have to decide if it's one you're willing to pay_

She wasn't.

_Then took the other, as just as fair,_

_And having perhaps the better claim,_

_Because it was grassy and wanted wear;_

_Though as for that the passing there_

_Had worn them really about the same,_

Mickey Smith was tired and a little irritable and in no particular mood to deal with strange, cryptic women. Unfortunately, that's what he'd found. He wasn't sure why the Dimension Cannon had brought him to her. The device was supposed to zero in on the Doctor. The brilliant scientists at Torchwood had used Rose's TARDIS key to get some kind of resonance, but honestly, he was only half-listening when they'd explained it. He was an operative and a computer genius, but the mechanics of time travel, and almost anything that had to do with the TARDIS, were beyond him.

The important thing was that the Cannon worked. He was in the right universe (no zeppelins) and the transport device was warm against his skin. He was close, he knew, now if he could only get the crazy bird in front of him to cooperate, maybe he could find the Doctor and get back to Rose. He smiled to himself. She'd wanted to test the prototype, but he'd insisted. She was too valuable to risk to a faulty temporal stabilizer or a mistaken theory.

"Can you help me?" he asked the woman in front of him. "I'm looking for an alien that calls himself 'The Doctor.' Specifically, I'm looking for the him that wears pinstripe suits and babbles a mile a minute. Have you heard of him?"

The woman didn't respond. Her blue eyes were wide and very far away. She seemed to be looking not at him, but through him. He wondered what she saw.

_And both that morning equally lay_

_In leaves no step had trodden black._

_Oh, I kept the first for another day!_

_Yet knowing how way leads on to way,_

_I doubted if I should ever come back._

Mickey waved a hand in front of the strange woman's face. "Hello, anyone in there? Did you hear what I said? I'm looking for the Doctor."

She blinked, and then seemed to come back to the present. "So you are, Mr. Smith. You're a bit late, but don't worry. I'm good with time travel." She held out her hand. "My name is River Song, and I can help you find him." She held out her hand and he took it. Something like electricity shot over her skin, suffused every atom of her existence. Time was being rewritten.

_I shall be telling this with a sigh_

_Somewhere ages and ages hence:_

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—_

_I took the one less traveled by,_

_And that has made all the difference._


End file.
